


The Width of a Circle

by theonetheonlyalexthemonarch



Category: The Stand - Stephen King
Genre: (a lil. it's for sex purposes), Attempted manipulation, But only a little, Crows, Crucifixion, Dark, Dark Comedy, Denial, Dreams, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, For the most part, Gross, Hypnotism, Mild Gore, Mildly Dubious Consent, Wolves, bad people doing bad things, it was the only way out of that situation guys, main character is a fucking DISASTER, messed up stuff, mother abigail is mentioned, slight furry stuff?? i didn't mean to do it i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 00:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16419380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonetheonlyalexthemonarch/pseuds/theonetheonlyalexthemonarch
Summary: You were a good person. You were. You wouldn't--couldn't-- be seduced by the dark side. You were good. You wouldn't turn bad, not for love or money. Not for anything.Not even for cowboy boots and jeans and a smile that made you sick and more danger and more power than you could've ever dreamed of.Because you didn't want those things. You didn't. You didn't want any of it.You didn't want Randall Flagg.





	The Width of a Circle

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished The Stand and I want Randall so bad you guys. I've wanted him since I met him in The Gunslinger like a year ago, but after The Stand, I just _wanted_ him so bad it was driving me nuts. And then I happened to listen to "The Width of a Circle" by David Bowie (one of my fave songs btw) and I broke. So this is kinda loosely based off that song, in which the speaker struggles with his feelings about God and then leaves and goes and sucks the Devil's dick (it's a great song you guys).
> 
> Also this turned out a lot longer than I thought it'd be, with an inexplicable furry-ish part in the middle there, idk where it came from. Sorry. That's the slight dubious consent, as the main character agrees to think about furry stuff to save their life.
> 
> I tried to not pull any punches with Randall. He wouldn't be a nice guy, or a nice lover. I hesitate to call him even a "lover," because the fucked up thing that the main character has with him _certainly_ isn't love. But he wouldn't be nice either way. He's still awful, but so is our mc (even if they're in denial about it). I wouldn't want him so bad if he was nice or sane or not creepy (seriously the ghost writing to nadine?? **"WE ARE IN THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD NADINE"** that shit??? that's so fucking hot). So he's still an asshole, but he does live for the jokes. And that's how I tried to write him.
> 
> I do think I fucked up some timelines, though. Whatever.

You were a good person. Or, at the very least, you had been a good person. You always tried your hardest to be good, even before the plague. You liked it when people were happy and you cried when you had to kill bugs. You rescued spiders. All that mopey shit.

So when Ol’ Cap’n Trips came along, you were utterly _devastated._ You were contemplating killing yourself. You would’ve, too, if it hadn’t been for those _dreams…_

Jersey is real far from Nebraska. But you puttered along all the same.

Because you were good. You were a good person, and what Mother Abigail was offering was all that you wanted in your life. And the dark man scared you.

He didn’t attract you. He did not. You were past the days of falling head-over-heels for the worst man you could find. He was not attractive.

And now. Colorado. You’d’ve never thunk it. You always thought you’d stick to the East Coast. The middle ones all blended together in your head. Oh, sure, you could list all the countries in Asia and Europe even to this day, but the middle states? Boring as all hell. Just some corn and shit.

Well, that corn and shit was your home now.

You stared at your ceiling. You had been lying flat on your back in bed for the better part of an hour, thinking about your life. How fucked up it was these days. How much had changed. And how wonderful this whole– _community_ was. It had been two days since your little group had arrived and you couldn’t believe how great it was here.

You couldn’t believe how much you wanted to leave.

Genuinely, you couldn’t. The urge was absolutely _crazy_ to you. You had everything you needed here. You were content. At rest. Relaxed. And still, for some reason, something in you was _begging_ you to get the hell out of dodge.

You had an uncomfortable feeling that you knew what it was. Or maybe even _who_ it was.

But you were good, dammit! You always had been. You couldn’t abide by the lifestyle you’d need to lead in Flagg’s camp. And Nick Andros was a cutie, and you had real, actual friends here, and you were _comfortable._ Finally. Even in your normal life, you’d never been comfortable. You’d been kind but restless, always moving, never satisfied. And here, everything was _lovely_ and _perfect_ and you wanted to stay still for once in your life, _dammit._

You turned from your back to your side. You were getting bored of moping about your mental state and staring at the ceiling. It was time to mope about your mental state and stare at the wall.

You were tired. You really were. And you didn’t want to be part of the dark man’s terrifying and fast-paced world. You could get better here. Feel better. You were always _good._ This world was good. This world, with its little prayers and everyone all good and on the straight and narrow.

You couldn’t want him. You didn’t. You liked it here. You were good.

_I disagree,_ a little voice inside your head whispered. _I think that…_

Oh, what do _you_ think, you thought back miserably. You hated having arguments with your own brain. You were a real bitch to argue with.

_I think that. Well, it’s only been a month and a half since the superflu. But I think you’ve aged quite a lot._

Old people could be good people.

_No they can’t. Old people are Republicans, mostly, and therefore by definition terrible._

Well, you weren’t really old. You were still young and good. And you were _staying here._

_You want him so bad you could scream. You want to start a fire and get drunk and have a night of marathon sex with the most powerful man on the planet. You want to leave immediately. You want to go to him on your knees. You want to have fun, because this apocalypse has been the most excitement you’ve ever had in your miserable excuse for a life and now you crave a thrill. What, you think you could go back to your quiet life? Your old life? Not anymore. You’re bored out of your head, you’re restless, and most of all, there’s a man in Nevada who you want more than anything else in the universe._

You shook your head at the voice and thought, you’re a monster. A crazy monster.

_I’m_ you, _baby._

You shook your head again. You couldn’t go.

_Why not? Why can’t you go?_

“Shut up,” you murmured aloud.

_Hm? Why not?_

“Shut _up.”_

_Why not?_

“I don’t _know!”_ you shouted finally, forcing yourself to sit upright in bed. “I don't know. There’s no good reason. Fuck.”

Your hands were trembling just a little, and you tugged on each finger, trying to cool down. You weren’t going, and that was final.

Jesus wept. You couldn’t do this right now. You needed some tea and a nap. You were pretty sure that exactly one of those things was a viable option to you right now.

Your hands were still shaking a little as you lied back down. You needed some time to think. To breathe. You weren’t going to the dark man. Ever.

You shut your eyes and forced your breathing to even out. You wanted a nap, and now. And you were going to get one.

It proved to be less restful than you thought.

Your dream involved the dark man. Again. You were rather hoping you’d shaken those along with everyone else. They all stopped at the same time, and you were sure yours were gone, too, but now, here he was again. You were in a bar, and the man with no face asked you to dance, come home with him, and you didn’t answer, but when you left, he was waiting for you and you tried to run, but you didn’t _want_ to run, except maybe _to_ him and not away, but this was how the dream went and you couldn’t change it, and crows dotted the road that you were running down, because you weren’t in a city anymore, you were in the country, all alone, the nearest house was three miles from you and there was a crow in the road and it seemed to be laughing at you as you ran, looking frantically for somewhere you were safe–

_“Why,”_ you asked the crow as you ran up to it. “Why can’t I run towards him? Why away?”

And then the dream that used to be so steady slowed. All around you. Like molasses. Slowly drip, drip, dripping… you were moving much slower now, even though you hadn’t changed anything you were doing.

The crow, if such a thing was possible, was looking at you with incredulity.

“Why not to him?” you asked again. If you or your monster couldn’t figure out why not, maybe this crow could help you.

You felt yourself stop running, though it wasn’t really a decision, and more of a thing that happened. You stopped just short of the crow.

“Why not?”

There was a pause that probably only lasted a second, but in this new molasses world, it felt like twenty minutes.

Suddenly, the crow opened its beak and let out a loud, piercing call. You winced from it, but it didn’t stop, it made the noise again, and again, and–

And you realized with a jolt that it was laughing at you. It was laughing and it sounded like a madman. _Raven Lunatic,_ you thought, remembering the raven plush your mother had. _She called it Raven Lunatic._

Before, the crow hadn’t been laughing at you like you thought, though it had been very amused by you. Now, though, it was laughing its fool head off, as though it had been told the funniest joke in the whole world.

It laughed and laughed and laughed, and each noise was a direct assault on your ears. You tried to cover them, but the sound of the crow laughing pierces through– it sounded so human and yet so animalistic– but most of all, it sounded absolutely insane.

The laughter died down. You hesitantly took your hands off your ears. It did not start up again.

The crow tilted its head to the side to regard you and you got the uncanny feeling that it was grinning at you. Birds couldn’t grin. But somehow, this one did, and it made you want to crawl away as fast as possible and run in the other direction, but the man with no face was in the other direction, and you couldn’t run _to_ him in dreams, you weren’t allowed, you could only run _away._

But the bird was the dark man, and you should’ve run away from _it_ now. And you didn’t. You couldn’t. You didn’t want to.

The bird suddenly cackled again, but only briefly. It looked at you with its grin again. It opened its beak again and spoke, in a rusty, creaky, masculine voice, “When love beckons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin. Crows couldn’t talk. They could mimic, probably, but they _definitely_ couldn’t talk. But you’d already established that this wasn’t an ordinary crow.

It fluttered its wings and spoke again, “And when his wings enfold you, yield to him, though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.”

You realized that he was mocking you. After all, who said anything about love? But one thing was certain: you wanted to go to him, to submit to him. And he would hurt you in the process, but you wanted him _so bad._

“And when he speaks to you believe in him, though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.” The crow fluttered his wings again, but this time it took off and flew directly toward you. You felt your heart rate spike as he settled on your shoulder and brought his beak to your ear. Still, you didn’t move, electing instead to wonder when the crow had stopped being _it_ and bad become _him_ in your head.

The crow pecked at your ear and you gasped a little.

Suddenly you were walking forward, walking down the road, walking, you realized, seeing the lack of Vega, Altair, and Deneb in the sky, west.

You were westward bound and there was nothing you could do about it. Not that you would if you could.

The path _wasn’t_ straight and narrow. Not this one. It curved and twisted and you could never see what was in front of you.

You knew he was around one of these bends.

The thought was a one-two punch of terror and _desire,_ an awful, powerful _want_ that shot through you.

With each step, you felt surer and surer that _this_ was the turn he was around, this was where you’d run right into him.

Each time, he was not.

You were getting desperate. The crow sat heavy and amused on your shoulder and the dark man was nowhere and _holy god did you need him._

He had to be around this next turn. He _had_ to be. You were trying your hardest to get to him, so he had to be, _had to be–_

You never made it around the next turn.

Harsh, pulling, clawing hands grabbed your waist and you let out a cry of alarm. The crow flew off your shoulder, cackling.

The dark man finally caught you.

He pulled you to him and you went along with it. Willingly or unwillingly, did it matter? He was a force of nature. His will would be done. Who were you to deny him? Who were you to deny yourself?

He wrapped his arms around you and brought his lips to your ear. He was so _cold._

“For even as love crowns you,” he murmured, his voice still full of mocking glee, “so shall he crucify you.”

And he turned the both of you around, still clutching you in his arms, and you were cold, too cold, freezing, and there on the telephone pole you had just walked past, just ignored, just didn’t see because you were blinded by desire for this man, there was someone, crucified, dead eyes looking at you accusingly, saying _you want the man who did this you monster you want him,_ the blood ran down his arms and down the pole and the crow flew up and suddenly the eyes _didn’t_ stare accusingly because there _were_ no eyes because the crow– the dark man?– _ate_ them and he was there, behind you, cold and pressing his whole body against yours, cold breath on your ear–

And this was everything you’d ever wanted. The man crucified, the dark man with you, lips skimming the surface of your skin, power radiating off him, seeping into you skin. The terror he made you feel. The _joy_ and _want_ and _desire_ he made you feel. He was powerful and deadly and you _wanted that, you wanted to be powerful and deadly and you wanted him to want you, too–_

And he laughed and the man on the telephone pole wept blood and you _wanted–_

And you woke up.

You sat up in bed.

Jesus God.

“Holy fuck,” you said. “Fuck.”

You needed to reject one of these things. You couldn’t have both. You couldn’t want this dark man _and_ feel comfortable here. You had to say, “so long, bye-bye” to something, because as long as you wanted him, you’d never feel comfortable here.

The answer should have been obvious. You were _good._ You were _good_ and you didn’t want bad things. You didn’t want to be powerful. You _didn’t._ Power and danger were not attractive to you. Because you were good and you always had been.

You cried when bugs died, dammit! You didn’t want to see anyone crucified and it _wasn’t attractive._

_Baby, has it taken you this long to realize that you’ve always loved power? Has it taken you this long to realize that there’s a sadist hiding under your pure exterior?_

Well, no. You knew you had an unnatural fascination with power imbalances. But there was a difference between wanting to have power over someone in the bedroom and wanting to have fuck someone right under a body he crucified in your name!

And you didn’t want the latter!

_Yes you do. Even before the plague, you wanted that. You think anyone else got hot and bothered when reading gory horror novels? You want death, you want power, you want danger. You’re soft, alright. You’re too soft. All of your pent up aggressions get funneled into your dark fantasies, the ones you like to pretend you don’t have._

You didn’t have any fantasies. You were going to choose the _good_ side. Because you were good.

You were staying here, and that was final.

Two weeks later, you found yourself climbing onto a motorcycle, you bag filled with water and some canned food.

Vegas or bust, baby.

* * *

 

You could have dealt with a lot of things. You could have dealt with dreams of him telling you that all would be okay, that he loved you, that you would be happy and comfortable here. You could have resisted those promises.

But he didn’t promise that.

He promised you fun.

And that was what really got to you, you realized as you were zooming down I-70. He promised you fun. And his little magic spell, his little seduction, caught you, absolutely ensnared you to the point where you couldn’t get back out if you wanted to. You heard that he could hypnotize people. Well, you sure as shit weren’t hypnotized. You guessed you were just bad.

No, that wasn’t quite true either. Because he had tried to get you to spy on what was going on in the Free Zone, he had tried to make you hurt people and mess things up, and you just wouldn’t. Even after two weeks of goading through dreams and hints, you wouldn’t.

He told you that he wouldn’t accept you if you didn’t kill some of the main seven who ran the place.

You told him, “What are you going to do? Kill me? _Stop_ me from riding your dick till I pass out?”

That one seemed to make him swallow his pride.

Your mother always said that when you wanted to accomplish something, it would happen. Dear god, would it happen. Nothing in this universe could stop you from getting something done when you set your mind to it.

And right now, your mind was dead set on sucking Randall Flagg’s dick without hurting anyone you cared about.

It was a goddamn long journey to Vegas, though. And a part of you seemed to shout ‘turn around, go back, turn around, go back, _turnaroundgoback–’_

Like _hell._ You realized that while Randall’s group was a bad place to be and your life expectancy would most likely _vastly_ increase if you turned around right now, you also knew that you’d never be happy. You’d be dissatisfied. Unfulfilled. And what the hell, it was the apocalypse. You were here for a good time, not for a long time, baby.

It was just about 1300, now, but you didn’t really want to stop. You had woken up at 0900, had a huge breakfast, and hopped on your bike. Right before you left, there was a brief mental argument regarding the possibility of wearing lingerie and only lingerie for the entire trip. On the one hand, it was impractical, but on the other hand, riding a motorcycle into Las Vegas at around 2200 while wearing only lingerie would be _hot as fuck._

In the end, you decided against. You’d be riding for eleven hours, and you’d be exposed to the sun and elements all the while. Delicate, lacy underwear could get ruined in that time. You did pack it, though, just in case you decided to stop outside the city limits, change, and keep going.

You weren’t hungry just yet, you had made sure to eat a large breakfast before you headed out. The bike was killing your back, but you were eager to get there. You were in Grand Junction now, and from there it was a half hour to the Utah state line.

Then, Utah was a large and boring state, but you’d get by. Nothing in this world could stop you from getting by.

Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed.

You grinned to yourself and revved the engine of the bike in return. There was no guarantee that it was the man you were looking for, but just in case it was, you wanted to say ‘hi.’

A half hour later, you crossed the border into Utah, and you started to feel hungry. You figured it was a good enough time to have a break.

As you munched on some peas, you heard something approaching you from behind. You turned around to see what it was.

The second you laid eyes on it, the wolf started to growl.

_(Turn around, go back.)_

“Ooh,” you muttered sarcastically, “terrifying. Truly.”

It _was_ a very scary on its own. Wolves are gigantic, and this one was no exception. It could probably sit on you and break your ribs. However…

“This is made doubly scary by the fact that it it _1330_ and wolves are primarily _nocturnal_ creatures!” you shouted aloud to the air. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

The wolf growled louder and started walking closer.

You said what you are certain is the funniest sentence you’ll ever say: “What’s that, boy? Timmy’s stuck in the well?”

The wolf was not as amused as you were and paced much closer to where you were sitting.

You rolled your eyes. “Look, what are you trying to do here?”

The wolf snarled.

“Do you want me to go back? Is this a threat? I have to go back to the Free Zone and murderize some folks or you’re going to have this wolf maul me? Is that it?”

The wolf seemed to sniff in a dignified way to denote that that was, in fact, it.

“Oh, no, honey,” you said, in a sort of mockingly sad tone. “Please don’t send me away! I couldn’t– I c-couldn’t _stand_ killing– b-b-but I _love_ you–”

You dropped the act and looked at the wolf in a deadpan sort of manner. It looked back at you. It had stopped growling, at least for the moment.

“Is that what you want from me?” you asked. “Be reasonable. You’d like shacking up with a woman like that, I’m sure, but how long could you have her around before you got bored? Hm? A week? Two? A month if she’s lucky? Baby, you want a challenge if you want a long-term partner. You have to be in control of _everything_ out in Vegas. You wanna be in total control of your gal as well? Don’t you want someone who supports you but is _also_ a pain in your ass?”

He made a noise that you took to mean, ‘but you used to be so obedient, I wanted that, but working for me.’

“First off,” you said, “you made me into what I am. Well, not quite, it was always lurking beneath the surface, but you sure did encourage it. You wanted me to give in to my darker and more disobedient urges. You can’t just switch it off now. Look, twenty years ago, Mao Zedong told all of the kids to question authority so they could denounce their teachers and parents. Then, last year, all those kids grew up and staged a large-scale protest against the government, which is arguably the highest authority out there. And the government was _surprised._ Now, I’m almost certain you helped the Tiananmen Square massacre develop. So why are _you_ surprised now?”

He gave you an irritated barking sound.

“Listen. You’d be bored out of your head if all I did was simper and beg. I want you really badly, but I want you to want me, too. And right now, you do, because I won’t give you what you want. So I’ll keep on being irritating and disobedient.”

The wolf growled menacingly again. Oh, he didn’t like that.

“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes at him again. “You like it. Would someone meek and obedient ask you to bite into me till I bleed, and then keep biting? Would someone quiet and timid ask you to fuck me till I pass out? Would someone submissive and shy demand that you pin me to a telephone pole with your hips and make me scream while blood from the latest body you crucified drips down on the both of us?”

The wolf was suddenly silent.

“That’s what I thought. You need to control too much and you like that you don’t need to force me into anything. I’ll do it, baby, but you gotta take the good with the bad on this one. Chew on that, why don’t you.”

You went back on munching on peas. They were okay. You mainly wanted to get to Vegas and put something else in your mouth.

“Also,” you said as an afterthought, “you thought the Lassie joke was hysterical, and it’s absolutely a joke you would’ve made if you were in my position. Don’t even try to lie.”

The wolf looked at you for a moment. Tilted his head to the side. Finally, he let out an amused little snuffly sound and padded over to your side. He bared his teeth again, but it seemed just for show.

“Yeah, you can’t kill me in a way that matters, anyway.”

He snuffled at your feet and hands. He really was _enormous._ His would come to about your hip if you stood, but as you were sitting, you were just about eye level with him. His head was as big as yours, bigger, probably.

You felt a shiver run up your spine. You remembered reading somewhere that the average wolf’s bite force is about four hundred pounds. He could kill you, or maul you, or do anything else to you. And he was so cold at the same time.

You wanted to see him. His human form. You wanted it so bad that you could scream. You talked a big game, sure, but you needed him far more than he wanted you.

You took a deep breath and started to get up. Just five more hours to get across Utah. Then it’d be about two more to get to all the way to Vegas. You needed to get there. You could make it.

Just when you shifted to your knees, the wolf pounced.

You made a surprised noise and you found yourself flat on your back. His paws, his giant paws were on your shoulders and he lowered his snarling mouth down, down till his teeth were just above your jugular.

_(Turn around, go back.)_

You inhaled sharply. He still wanted you to do exactly as he asked and he still thought didn’t appreciate the insubordination.

You felt every exhale on your neck, and each breath turned your veins to ice.

You knew what he wanted from you. But you wouldn’t go back and hurt anyone. You wouldn’t. And you knew you’d be of more value to him if you didn’t just blindly follow his orders. But how to make him _see_ that in the next thirty seconds before he dismembered you…?

Oh. Of course.

“Alright, here’s the deal,” you said in as nonchalant a voice you could manage. “I’m not going to outright _veto_ the whole wolf sex thing, but I would rather like to have a discussion about it with you, face to face, in human English first. And I do want your _person_ cock inside me before we try anything funky.”

His head seemed to recoil from your neck so he could look you in the eye. Yeah, which of your submissive darlings was going to consider that, you crazy motherfucker?

It seemed he couldn’t resist anymore.

He backed off your shoulders, slowly, and a little doggy smile appeared on his face. He stuck his tongue out and started to pant.

You never had a dog growing up, you liked cats, but your neighbor’s dog, Callie, used to make a noise just like that. Bill, your neighbor, told you that it was how dogs laughed.

Well, you were quite good at making him laugh, at the very least.

You stood up, and this time he let you. He was still laughing his little wolf laugh.

“Only seven more hours, babe,” you told him.

He barked in return. He seemed to smile wider and came much too close to you.

Grinning impishly, he nuzzled your crotch with his snout and licked at it a few times.

You pushed his head away. “I said we gotta talk about it first. Seven more hours.”

He barked again. Then, without any other preamble, he turned and walked away into the desert.

Oof. You couldn’t believe you’d agreed to think about wolf sex. It _was_ to save your life. But man. You were more depraved than you’d thought.

“Seven more hours,” you muttered to yourself, and took a swig of water.

After collecting everything you needed, you hopped back onto your bike, revved the engine a few times, and thought about all the power and danger and fun you’d get out of this whole ordeal.

_Seven more hours,_ you thought again. _Turn around, go back,_ said your other half. And you were off.

* * *

 

You had just passed Mesquite, Nevada when you felt cold, suddenly, and you knew it was time to stop. The sun was setting. You’d been riding all day. You looked out across the half light and abandoned your vehicle by the side of the road. He was here.

You wandered off the road and into the desert. He was here, and he was waiting.

Waiting for you.

You walked for at least fifteen minutes, just wandering. Just going where you felt you needed to go.

And then you saw him.

All of the blood in your veins turned to ice. He was terrifying and young and handsome and he looked like he’d kill you in ten seconds.

You wanted him more than you could express in words.

He was sitting in the valley between two little hills and you ran down, just sitting and relaxing and looking up at you.

You ran down the hill so fast you almost fell and broke your neck, now wouldn’t that be a hilarious end to the story?

As you approached him in this darkling plane, you felt the urge–

_(turn around, go back, turnaroundGOBACK)_

–to leave come over you again. Like some part of your evolutionary instinct wanted you to get as far away from him as possible.

Well, unfortunately for your evolutionary instincts, the urge to run away just got you hot and bothered.

He was very normal looking, and he stood up as you got closer. He was actually quite handsome. You’d never seen his face before, he was always faceless in dreams.

He was smiling in a way that made you sick and nervous. God _damn_ you wanted him. Somehow, the repulsion was part of the charm.

“You can be a pain in the ass, you know that?” he asked you.

“Darling,” you crooned. “You said it best: ‘For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.’ My lips are both your crown and your cross, baby. And hey, if I’m lucky, you can be a pain in _my_ ass soon. Now can I _please_ suck your dick?”

He puckered his lips for just a moment. He was still just a little undecided on whether or not he should kill you.

“Holy _god_ let me suck your dick, I think I might actually die if you don’t let me, make up your mind about killing me later.”

His grin returned, and you felt yourself get colder. Goosebumps rose up on your arms. He stepped closer and closer till there were only a few centimeters between you.

“Are you cold?” he asked mockingly. You couldn’t answer, though if you could, you wouldn’t be sure how to respond. The answer was _yes but only externally inside I yearn for you I_ **_burn_ ** _for you–_

He kept eye contact with you and you couldn’t look away, not even as you felt his _cold cold cold_ hands grab your wrists. Not even as you felt the power pouring off of him in waves. You felt like a bird trapped by the gaze of a cobra.

He brought your hands to the front of his pants, tucked your fingers into his belt, and release you.

The _second_ your hands were free, you started to unbuckle it. Your knees were shaking with the effort it took to stay standing and not drop to your knees in front of him right now, nuzzle his crotch like he had done to you.

You unbuckled his belt and started working on his jeans and were so hot and so cold and you couldn’t _stand_ it, you were just barely upright and you tucked your fingers into the waistband of his underwear–

And he grabbed your hands again. He leaned forward, put his face _closer closer closer_ to yours and he–

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, lips _touching_ yours, they were _touching yours,_ even if only slightly– and he said–

He said, “You’ll never go down to the gods again.”

_TURN AROUND, GO BACK._

“You fucking maniac,” you whispered back. “Why on earth do you think I’d _ever_ want to?”

He kissed you then, and you kissed back, tugging him forward by his underwear. It was a vicious, harsh thing, full of want. You didn’t think anyone could be as brutal as Randall was, but in that kiss, you thought you gave him a run for his money.

He was so _cold._ He was so cold, and your whole body was reacting negatively to how close he was to you. Your body wanted him _away_ and you ignored that, again, and pulled him closer, and you broke off from his lips to _bite_ his neck, you needed to _bite and mark him–_

He pulled you off of him and he looked you right in the eyes and you felt like you had to throw up. You felt like someone had sliced a hole in your abdomen and all of your guts had just fallen out of your body. You felt like the ground had opened up beneath you and you were falling, falling down into the pit. You felt the blood drop out of your face. You felt that this man was _evil_ and _deadly._ You felt that he was responsible for _so much pain and suffering._ You felt more scared than you had ever been in your life.

“Oh, god,” you moaned. It wasn’t sexy, it was sick. It was a moan of illness and aching. “Oh, god. Do it again.”

_TURN AROUND, GO BACK._

_“Do it again!”_ you cried out, and this time, it was wanting. You needed him to do that again, whatever that was, it made you so sick and cold and hurting but you _fucking_ needed it.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and jumped up to wrap your legs around his waist. He caught you with a practiced ease, and good _Christ_ he was so cold in between your hot thighs.

He kissed you savagely and you moaned in response. His coldness was so _weird._ So obviously inhuman. He shifted you in his arms so he was holding you up by one hand– fuck, it didn’t look like he was strong enough to do that, but you supposed he was magic, and it was so _hot–_ and he pulled at your arms till they slipped down to his shoulders, and then he pulled back and smiled at you, and that damn smile made you want to choke and die so you’d _never_ see it again, but it also got you hotter than anything in the fucking world.

He pushed you away from him, suddenly, and you fell out of his arms and your back hit the ground. You felt the wind get knocked out of you and you gasped like a fish for a few seconds. He walked over to you, and then _over_ your body on the ground, one foot on each side of your prone form, till he hovered right above your chest.

He fell to his knees, and each of them barely missed your shoulders. He had positioned himself so that every time you inhaled your breasts would _just brush_ his blue-jeaned crotch and your nipples hardened because _fuck_ he was cold.

You looked up at him, gasping, panting, staring. He didn’t look like a man from this view. In fact, you be almost certain that he wasn’t. His form seemed nebulous, off. Dangerous. Evil.

He looked you in the eyes again and you felt high, all of a sudden. You’d never been high in your whole good, ‘cried when bugs died’ life. But you were suddenly so fucking high, and it was somehow because this fucking snake had looked you in the eyes, and he didn’t make you feel like you were going to throw up, he made you feel like you were weightless and giddy and–

“Do it again, do it again!” you cried again, though it really came out as more of a whimper this time.

_TURN AROUND, GO BACK._

_Oh, it’s much too late for that._

You finally managed to yank his pants down his hips a ways, and he sat on your chest, blocking any air you had.

You gasped at the sudden lack of air and he laughed at your distress. Even with your lungs burning, you growled and surged forward, trying to bite at his inner thighs.

He laughed again, his eyes wide and maniacal and lifted himself off you.

“Oh, you better get used to not breathing, baby, you’ll do a lot of it real soon.”

He shuffled forward on his knees and now he came up even closer, he was practically sitting on your face, now, and it was so _fucking_ strange to feel cold spilling off him, so fucking strange in a way that made your mouth water.

God, he’d be just like a popsicle.

The thought made you giggle, and then laugh right out loud.

His crazed eyes focused on you and his smile turned bad again, it was the smile that made you feel _sick_ and horny rather than _high_ and horny, and you moaned in pleasure/displeasure, but you couldn’t stop laughing.

“Sorry,” you said, gasping through bouts of laughter. “S-s-sorry, popsicle, sorry–”

“Oh, you will be,” he said in a perfectly pleasant tone of voice.

He sat back down, shifting a little to put all of his weight on your throat, this time, and you choked and grabbed at his waist.

There was no fucking air, god, you couldn’t get any in, you’d die here, trapped under the cold cold thighs of the most powerful man on the planet.

He sat up again.

Fuck, you just had to breathe, breathe, breathe, you could do it, inhale, exhale, deep breaths.

God _fuck_ you’d almost died. You’d almost fucking come untouched.

You looked up at him again. There he was, the epitome of evil in this world. Fucking Satan for all you knew. He was smiling down at you expectantly.

You wanted him. Now, he was yours for the taking, and god damn it all, you’d have him.

You yanked down his underwear.

* * *

 

Hours later, many hours later, you were draped across his body. He was lying flat on his back and looking at the stars, smiling in his way. You were shivering terribly. You hated the cold, but that was some _fucking fantastic_ sex, so you supposed you could put up with it. Your head rested against his chest.

You squirmed a little on his cock, which he had not deigned to remove from you at all since he had got it in. It felt like a block of ice inside you.

“God, you’re freezing. Can’t you turn that off?”

“I’m going to kill all your friends,” he said cheerfully, “and fuck you senseless on their bodies.”

You felt a terrified shiver run through you, accompanied by an acute feeling of _want_. The fact that that was a total non-sequitur didn’t detract at all from the feeling.

He laughed. “Oh, you’ll _never_ go down to the gods again.”

“Only because I don’t want to,” you replied. “I want to stay here. And I want you to treat me violently. And I want the power that comes with being with you. And I want _you.”_

He grinned. Well, he always grinned, but this time the smile seemed genuinely pleased. Still fucking terrifying, but genuinely pleased. “Such a power hungry whore you are.”

“Takes one to know one. Will we do some crucifixion stuff soon? That sounds _nuts_ hot.”

“Sugar pie, honey bunch,” he crooned. Suddenly, he flipped the two of you over, pinning you to the ground with his body. “I’m going to tear you apart.”

“You’d better.” You leaned up and stole a kiss. “This is a violent delight, mister, and it demands a violent end. Let’s have some fun and disaster.”

**Author's Note:**

> And they lived happily ever after until mc did something so irritating Randall killed them. Or maybe they even made it to the end of Las Vegas, though I doubt it.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. Maybe there'll be more of this, but I'm reading IT now, so I'll be back on my clownfucker thing soon enough. (i also have like _forty fucking wips that i want to publish **not to mention all of the shit i never finished on here that i still have to post haha kill me**_ )
> 
> The quotes are by Kahlil Gibran, cause in the song, the speaker and his monster "asked a simple blackbird, who was happy as can be/and he laughed insane and quipped Kahlil Gibran." I wasn't going to do anything with that till i looked him up and found the "For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you" and I fell in love with it and thought it was perfect so I was forced to include it.
> 
> Anything that sounds like a really cool quote I probably took from David Bowie. "He said, 'You'll never go down to the gods again' (turn around, go back)" is not mine, it's Bowie's. Ditto for "Do it again, do it again."
> 
> Also I realized that not everyone knows the placement of summer stars in the Northern Hemisphere. Vega, Deneb, and Altair are part of an asterism (a well-known and easily visible group of stars, but not an actual official constellation, [e.g. the Big Dipper]) known as the Summer Triangle. The Summer Triangle is in the Eastern Sky in summer in the Northern Hemisphere, and they are very quickly and easily visible because a) they are quite bright, and b) they are in the Eastern Sky, which gets darker faster (bc the sun sets in the west). Each of those stars are actually part of their own constellation, Vega belongs to Lyra the Harp, Deneb belongs to Cygnus the Swan (Cygnet Committee by David Bowie is ALSO a really good song), and Altair belongs to Aquila the Eagle.
> 
> Sorry again for the furries and murder.


End file.
